Old Soldiers Never Fade
by Bloodpage-Alchemist
Summary: Illness falls upon one Bruce Wayne and due to difficulties, a certain butler has to take up the mantle of the Dark Knight for him. Will Gotham be safe under his watch? And more importantly: will Alfred survive it and all of the strange events that come with the job?
1. Chapter 1

**1.**

Wayne Manor was only a small blip on the massive estate on the outskirts of Gotham City. It was a mansion, of course, large enough where anyone could live there and not see any other inhabitants. Luckily, this was not the case. The small number of people that were usually in said mansion normally got along well enough. On the downside, so few people normally meant a lot of silence, especially when everyone else was out.

Alfred Pennyworth, the butler of Wayne Manor, was a master at his job. He was beyond effective at keeping order, keeping the inhabitants fed and watered (they would forget, after all), was a shoulder to cry on, a person to complain to and was perhaps the only person that could calm Bruce Wayne down when he was angry.

Like now. The normally attractive man was sick. Very sick, and unfortunately he was very stubborn. And to add to this, Bruce Wayne was too intelligent for his own good. Unfortunately for any individuals who might think that he would be perfect to live with happily ever after, he was also the Batman, vigilante protector of Gotham City, and married to his mission to keep it as safe as possible.

"I'm fine," Bruce was arguing this to Alfred. Well, attempting to argue. His voice was similar to a frog's croak, if a frog could manage half a croak. Bruce's voice was fading in and out, since it was obvious he was losing his voice. But he was determined and nothing helps a stubborn man be determined more than his intellect and simple denial.

"Sir, you are most clearly not fine. Asking how I cloned myself three times means you're seeing things."

"I can patrol. I'll make something..." but what he would make to assist him in patrolling despite the obvious illness was unknown because he threw up on the floor next to the bed. And if one was curious, this also happened to be the exact location of Alfred's feet.

"Yes villains beware, the Dark Knight will vomit on you. And if you're clever, keep a sample so you can finally learn who he is due to DNA evidence." Alfred looked at the mess on his shoes, somehow still looking dignified despite vomit on his person.

The retort from the man in the bed was a growl reminiscent of an angry bear.

"I shall find someone to patrol for you, Master Bruce. Please put your energy into feeling better instead of arguing with me about tonight's patrol."

"There isn't anyone else," Bruce attempted to retort, before he retched again. This time the place where he retched was a small ice bucket that Alfred had quickly put in front of him.

"I shall find someone."

"Everyone is busy-" Bruce tried once more to protest and make Alfred see logic. He felt like a little boy again, especially with Alfred being patient.

"Rest Master Bruce, or I shall be forced to use a sedative."

Bruce Wayne, the Batman, legend of Gotham and feared by villains and heroes alike, glared at Alfred but said nothing. Alfred probably would use a sedative on him if he thought it was necessary. Bruce didn't like the idea of someone patrolling his city just because he was stupid and weak enough to fall ill. Fortunately, Alfred had never disappointed him in the past, and the older man was normally wise enough to know best.

Bruce didn't have to like it, though. And he wasn't going to give in without a fight. "I can do it." He attempted to rise and almost whimpered with the pain. Alfred was fast once more with the ice bucket and Bruce shut his eyes, hating how pathetic he felt. A straw soon found its way to his lips and he sipped gratefully at the orange-flavored drink. He could taste the chemical that would probably make him sleep until morning, but he could also taste the anti-nausea medicine in it. Alfred was not trying to trick him, but he stopped sipping and glowered at the butler.

"Master Bruce, you are ill. Use this for future knowledge: if a villain has put odd drugs into the water near Gotham, hiding in it for hours to find a lair is not a good idea. You not only stayed in the water with these chemicals for hours, you went on patrol afterwards. The cold night air did not help you and neither did staying in damp clothing and armor." The older man gave Bruce a pointed look.

Bruce simply grunted, before sighing, "You'll find someone?"

"Yes."

"..." It was obvious Bruce didn't like it, but he knew that arguing would get nowhere and Alfred was right. He finished drinking his medicine. Soon, Alfred gently pushing the hair from his face, reminding Bruce very much of being young once more, he drifted to sleep.

Alfred waited patiently before cleaning everything in the room up, leaving the door and a few devices to monitor Bruce before leaving to clean himself up. He did all of this quickly and efficiently, looking as if all were normal within the manor. Finally, after checking that Bruce was sleeping... a peaceful sleep, which was surprising. That wasn't really normal, but perhaps his illness, the medicine, and his exhaustion had helped with that.

The elderly butler made sure all was organized and clean before he entered the cave. It had been dubbed the "Batcave," but Alfred simply thought of it as another part of the manor. There were wings and rooms and thus this was simply the cave, another aspect of the house. While in there, he logged onto the massive computer that allowed Batman to see most of Gotham City and even other places, looking for someone that could possibly patrol Gotham.

The Justice League... all busy? Alfred shook his head. Apparently there was a galactic threat a few thousand light years away... fun. He looked up the Titans. And they too were busy, on Starfire's planet. He chuckled, remembering the many, _many _times young Dick Grayson had mentioned her.

Then there were the younger heroes, the Teen Titans, and even they were all busy keeping one of their members safe from her father. Apparently she could be possessed and supposedly would bring about the end of the world due to it, but it hadn't happened yet, and the girl was stronger than she knew.

Unfortunately, even people like Azrael and Batwoman were busy. One was trying to regain his routes, to learn that killing to solve crime wasn't right. Batwoman was in Bludhaven, which wouldn't help for this night.

Alfred glanced at the clock. He knew that Bruce would be asleep until roughly five in the morning.

He had said he would find someone to patrol Gotham City. Alfred had been the butler of the Wayne family for decades, long before Gotham City even had a Batman. He had served to the best of his ability and had never failed them, had never disappointed his employers.

He would not start now.

He found some of the suits that were rather old and began to quickly, with the accumulation he had due to years of experience, tailor it to fit him.

Yes, he was not young. But Alfred was not inexperienced. He had fought wars back in his youth, and keeping the heroes outfitted and ready today was not easy. He kept in shape because the Manor and estate had had people attempt to break in before. He was old, but not a feeble weakling.

And it was only for the one night.

It took a bit longer to get ready, since Alfred wanted to be sure this was truly the only way. However, he had been right-there was no other person to watch his young master's city.

He had heard Bruce speak as Batman for years, and he had studied theater himself. He had helped Bruce with some of his many disguises as well.

And so a few moments later, the Batmobile was on the streets.

But in the Batcave, a warning flashed on the screen where no one could see it.

_Code AB1:Joker. Repeat: AB1, Joker_

And of course, if anyone had seen the warning, they would have known that meant the Joker had just escaped from Arkham Asylum.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

Gotham City wasn't as dark as people usually made night time out to be. The various lights all over the city were the reason for that, even though some of them were shot at to make things darker, easier for people to do things in an area. And some of them were just old and needed changing.

It seemed sometimes that criminals had the mindset that cops should have. Criminals used to shoot out the lights, so when they had put up shatterproof coverings over the light, the criminals had just painted over them. The same issue happened with the cameras. How could they record anything when they had been covered? Add that to the fact that, in Gotham, there were enough corrupt cops to the point where civilians didn't know who were worse.

At least their tax money didn't fund the criminal that might stick them up. It was different when an officer of the law was a criminal...

But musing would not help Alfred right now. He was concentrating on how Bruce normally sounded in his 'Batman' personality. And though he could say for all eternity that Batman was his real face, Alfred had seen the true Bruce Wayne when he had been but a child. Neither the idiotic playboy that he portrayed nor the dark knight were the "true" Bruce Wayne.

Alfred knew the truth: Bruce Wayne had died the same night as his parents. All that was left was a shell of the boy that had wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. But at least that was one thing that hadn't changed: Bruce had always wanted to help people.

He was just doing it in a different way now.

But why had he allowed it? Why allow his child, because to him Bruce was still a child and he was all Alfred had, to risk his life every night?

It sounded pathetic but... he could see that Bruce loved being able to do something. Helping and trying to prevent another child from losing a family like he had. And that dull, glazed look of pain that had been in Bruce's eyes ever since that night had left when he had gone out that first night. He was _living,_ this boy with Bruce Wayne's name and face, and though Alfred knew he wasn't the same happy boy, he didn't want to see his child in the state he had been in before ever again. And if that meant risking his life...

Alfred had served in the military. He had done horrible things 'for the greater good.' He wasn't Bruce, he couldn't pretend to understand precisely what Bruce had gone through, but he did understand duty, change, and pain. He understood loss and the need to want the generation after, those you loved despite never seeing them, to not want to have to live through what you did.

Alfred understood the need to have affected humanity in some way, shape or form.

He looked up, noticing a crime in progress, and shot two nets from the Batmobile to stop the would-be thieves. He chuckled as they shouted and cursed, allowing the cops (hopefully ones that weren't corrupt!) to catch them.

Most of the crimes were petty but could be bothersome. Alfred was glad Bruce relied on so many gadgets, since all he had to do so far was hide and just drop on people. Robbers, thugs... most of them were sadly easy to stop.

Well, until he ran into Killer Croc and his thugs in an abandoned warehouse by the docks. Great. Now he couldn't lecture Bruce about running around in wet armor any more. Why did so much crime happen around the docks? Where were the authorities to prevent smuggling? Well, better to whine later and do what he told Bruce that he'd find someone to do: patrol and protect Gotham. He entered the warehouse and saw the various cartons of weapons and money. Lovely, he had entered during a business transaction with some of Penguin's goons. Alfred readied himself and then threw smoke bombs all around.

"IT'S BATMAN! RUN!"

He could hear the sounds of some people running towards him, eager to fight and prove their worth, and others running away. He could also hear Killer Croc shouting, "I've got just the thing for 'im!"

Alfred wanted to groan. He could keep his eye on the thugs near him easily enough, but he wasn't young anymore! Dodging a lot just really wasn't in his day-to-day routine. It was a good thing he sparred with the others during their workouts or he knew he would be completely overwhelmed. He thought about this for a few seconds before hearing an odd sound. He quickly jumped out of the way of the giant rock Killer Croc had thrown at him. Where had he gotten that thing from? It was massive!

He managed to get rid of the thugs, for the most part, "borrowing" one of their weapons. He had a plan, which was good, but Killer Croc was busy smashing the floor and trying to flood the place. How stupid was he? Alfred sighed, dodging the villain a few times before he took off the Batman cloak and came up behind Killer Croc, who was trying to gnash and bite. The cloak was stronger than it looked, of course, and Alfred wrapped it around Croc's neck, tightening it even as the villain thrashed under him in the water.

After all... Crocodiles might like water, but they weren't exactly fish. He waited a bit to be sure the criminal would stay unconscious, but alive. Alfred then removed the cloak from around Croc's neck and strung him up, shooting up a flare to draw attention before he left. Remembering that he had lectured Bruce about the same problem, and being soaked himself, Alfred quickly turned on the heat in the Batmobile, drying off the suit he was in as much as he could. The gloves, boots, and other parts weren't as wet quite sooner than Alfred had thought.

How did so many people manage to turn out that way? Normal cops couldn't be expected to take on insane people with the abilities of … well, with more abilities than most people. A gun wouldn't have worked against Killer Croc's skin and a tazer in the environment they had just fought in might have injured or even killed the officer most likely, due to all of the water. Metropolis had a meta-human unit in their police force, but why didn't Gotham? Was it pride? Or did the corruption run so deep in Gotham that enough members of the police were worried that an 'elite' squad for these villains would somehow lessen their authority?

Alfred didn't know the answer to that. He did know that the crime in this city...it was just a lot, far too much for any police department to handle. How had Commissioner Gordon kept his sanity for so long?

Speak of the devil... Alfred could see the light of the Bat-signal high over the city. He sighed and grappled his way to a high building.

Oh dear God. His _arms!_ How did the others do this on a daily basis? Alfred could balance things and lift things, of course; he did work out as well. But this was far more than simple chin-ups! This was _hard!_ And there wasn't exactly only a few feet between him and the ground. He had always known the risks Bruce and the others took with the criminals but the small things like this had rarely crossed his mind. Dick Grayson was probably a natural at this though, he had been quite the gymnast, but the others... they must have had to work long and hard to do this daily. Alfred had always respected them, but sometimes it was remembering the amount of work that went into the 'little' things like grappling around a city that showed how much they really threw themselves into this mission.

He managed to not show his exhaustion as he landed in front of Commission Gordon. "Good evening, Commissioner," he said simply, using the 'Batman' voice and the skills first acquired and later fine-tuned from his time in an acting troupe when he hadn't been able to find a job readily and before he had joined the military. It really was amazing what butlers had to be capable of, especially the butler of the Batman. It took years to master something, but seeing as he had been Bruce's 'acting' teacher, among other things, it had been years that had been well worth it. "Sorry I'm late."


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

"What the devil took so long?" Gordon asked, giving a look that was a mixture of exasperation, worry and gratitude.

"Killer Croc set up base in the docks. He's been handled so expect him back in Arkham soon." Alfred knew Bruce better than most, and he knew the less he said, the better. Bruce was nothing if not succinct.

The Commissioner shook his head, " These criminals... I was wondering where he had gotten off to. Well, onto business. Look who managed to get out of Arkham." The man held a file out to Alfred, who took it and wanted to groan or worse, not take care of the situation.

Unfortunately, he was acting, and he wouldn't let Bruce down.

But the file he was holding was that of one criminal that was utterly insane and dangerous, the Clown Prince of Crime... the Joker.

"He's moving rapidly, we've gotten pictures of him at a few locations but hasn't settled yet."

"Then I'd better moving before he does. Have a good night, Commissioner." With that, Alfred flew off, mentally groaning at his poor arms yet again, sighing in relief when he got back into the Batmobile.

He had stayed in shape, of course. How could he not, with those young people everywhere? Someone had to be able to patch them up and keep the manor in shape. Many other places of that size had an entire group to clean and cook. Wayne Manor only had himself due to the many secrets the inhabitants inside it had.

Alfred rode through the streets of the city. Like earlier, it was far too easy to get rid of petty criminals. He particularly enjoyed breaking up one drug deal where he was, to his surprise, assisted by an older man much like himself. The older man had used a gun but had not killed anyone, aiming for the hands and knees of the 'young idiot crooks that tried to take the easy way in life,' as the man had said.

He was back on the rooftops now, and it was hectic. There were assassins on the hunt. Alfred stepped in, using a batarang on an alarm in one building and a smoke bomb in another. Then he had to fight with one assassin who managed to cut his torso despite the fact that he managed to subdue her.

It was a simple matter to stitch the wound in the Batmobile.

Simple, but not exactly painless.

Alfred wondered yet again how Bruce and the others did this willingly each night. But he understood the need to stand tall when others did not, the need to do your duty.

It was late now, fewer people out. Even the criminals seemed to finally be sleeping. But he still had not found the Joker. He went to a tall clock tower, to see the East Side of Gotham... and Alfred froze.

There he was. Him and his little girlfriend, Harley Quinn: the Joker.

"Joker," Alfred said, using Bruce's 'Batman' voice.

"We've got a surprise for you!" Harley said, pulling out a mallet and running for him. Alfred dodged and tried kicking her feet from beneath her.

"That's enough," Joker said, sounding far different than Alfred had heard on the various sound clips or videos. "Harley, stop it."

The Clown Prince of Crime walked forward, a most perplexed look on his face. "I know everyone calls _me_ crazy," he said, that maniacal grin on his face before continuing in the most unusual, serious voice, "but even _I'm_ not crazy enough to know that pretending to be someone you're not is bad."

Alfred kept his face neutral, "What are you talking about, Joker?"

"Oh come on now, don't be coy." At the continued silence, the clown just giggled, "Fine, you silly man. You're not _my_ Batsy."

Oh dear.


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

"What? But Mr. J, take a _look_ at 'im!" Harley's voice rose, obviously indignant.

"Shut up," the Joker said, slapping her without a glance. She just pouted and glowered. The clown strode forward and looked at Alfred, looked him up and down. "You're good, I'll give you that. You obviously do know the real Batsy. But you're not him."

How did the Joker know this? No one else had seemed to.

"But you don't strike me as crazy either. I know how that looks, after all." He gave his usual wide grin here before it faded. "What kind of sick person runs around in a suit with a cape pretending to be Batman?"

Alfred sighed. He didn't know _how_ the Joker knew, but perhaps this confrontation could be made easier. "I'm not the sick one. He is, to be quite literal."

The Joker opened his mouth and shut it, perhaps Alfred's words sinking in, because his eyes widened. "My Batsy's _sick?_" He turned to Harley, "Go get him soup!"

"But puddin'-!"

"_GO!"_

Pouting, Harley nimbly jumped away and ran off.

Alfred was rather confused by the entire exchange, but well, could he truly be surprised by it? Joker was known for being insane, after all.

"If my Batsy is sick, who is taking care of him? You're not the Boy Blunder. Why isn't he here?" Joker tilted his head, peering at Alfred intently. "You're neither of the birdies or the bat girlies."

"I would be caring for him, but... everyone was busy," Alfred answered tiredly, not knowing when or why he was telling the madman the truth, but it seemed that the only person to even _care_ that the Batman was sick was the Joker! The only person who had noticed the small differences, who was questioning Bruce's care. Everyone always left it in Alfred's hands...

Now the Joker looked angry. "My Batsy is sick and nobody's there for him?" He looked towards where Harley had run to. "Where is that stupid woman? The soup might be cold! Everyone was busy? Why?"

"Different galaxies and issues in other places," Alfred answered.

The Joker nodded, making a face, "Nobody ever invites me to the parties. My poor Batsy. So you're here because everyone is sick? But why?"

"Someone needed to watch his city."

An interested look now. "If you found someone to do it, you'd go back and take care of Batsy so he'd be able to come out and play?"

"I'm sure he doesn't view it the same way," Alfred answered. "But essentially, yes."

"About time!" Joker barked as a panting Harley returned with a big bag. "Here." This was handed to Alfred. "I want to help Batsy feel better."

Alfred made a mental note to throw out the soup the instant he returned to the manor, but even he had to admit it smelled delicious.

"I can't leave."

"You said you could if someone would watch the city!" Joker protested.

"And there isn't anyone," Alfred felt tired. Didn't he just say that?

"Boss?" Harley interrupted. "What's goin' on?"

The Joker ignored her, "Au contraire mon caretaker of ze Bat." He perked up and put his fingers to his head, "I don't have the hood or cloak, but I can do it to make Batsy get better."

"_You_ want to _protect_ Gotham?" Alfred's voice was incredulous.

Joker gave Alfred a look before protesting, "It's my city too!"

"You can't _kill_ people when-"

"Yadda yadda yadda, I know, I know. No guns, no killing, protect the innocent, help the people, now you go and help my Batsy!" Joker waved him off, obviously meaning it.

Holding the bag with the soup and feeling very confused, Alfred returned to the Batmobile. Bruce _did_ have cameras everywhere, but Alfred was relying on his own judgement here as well. Joker did want the real Batman back. And Alfred wanted to take care of Bruce.

He would keep an eye on the cameras and on Bruce. If Joker did anything too insane... well, he was the Joker. This entire _situation_ was insane.

"I promise I'll do a good job," the Joker said, beaming at him from the rooftops. "Just take care of Batsy!"

Alfred watched as they left, with Harley saying loudly, "But Boss, we could take 'im! Take 'im then take out the Bat, cause he's sick-!"

"Shaddup!" Joker snapped, hitting her. "He helps Batsy and Batsy makes things interesting! We win, we do it fair and square, not while he's sick! Stupid! Now come on, you need a good costume to be my sidekick!"

Alfred decided he just would return to the manor at that point. He did and made sure he put away the costume and the like before returning to where Bruce was.

The younger man was sleeping a bit fitfully, a sheen of sweat obvious on his forehead. The fits seemed to decline a bit when Alfred rested his hand on Bruce's forehead. His temperature was still very high and Alfred knew it would be a few days before he could really be back to his old self. Bruce would hate being on bed rest those days but Alfred would be able to argue that he had found someone.

But he also knew it would be wise to not say who.

This man was the closest thing he had to a son. He would do anything for Bruce. The elderly man moved with elegant grace, cleaning and tending to his young master, a job he had never and would never regret.


	5. Chapter 5

**5.**

It was the next night, with a still sick Bruce Wayne and his guardian, butler and friend, Alfred Pennyworth, was there to tend to him properly.

Far away, where neither would see, a man hopped onto a building. He wore a purple hoodie with pointy cardboard ears glued to it. He wore a purple cloth "Batman" suit that was droopy and sagging and he had to keep rolling up the sleeves. And nothing could cover the ghastly pale skin.

Or the wide manic grin he was known for, which was on his face.

"I am the Dark Knight!" He stated this loudly, cupping his hands over his mouth so everyone nearby could hear. "Come my faithful bird assistant!"

A loud complaining groan and soon Harley appeared, pouting and covered in green and red feathers. "Mr. J-"

He walloped her at that. "No!"

She stomped her foot, "FINE. 'Batman,' is it time for us to patrol?"

"Yes, my dear birdie!" The Joker-turned-temporary-Batman turned, facing a security camera, and growled dangerously, "I am the night. I am the low ratings that cancel your favorite show. I. Am. BATMAN." With this, he ran off, Harley groaning and running after him.

The nights were fairly quiet after that; after all... everyone knows, to scare each other, criminals would tell Joker stories. The Clown Prince of Crime owned the city and if he were taking Batman's place for now...

It was the only time in history where criminals wished the real Batman, the Dark Knight, would show up in the skies.

They continued to wish this for five nights.

On the fourth night however, at Wayne Manor…

"ALFRED!"

The older man quickly rushed to Bruce's side. Said man was watching the news with obvious disbelief.

Alfred looked over his shoulder and barely managed to keep a straight face.

On the screen, on the news, was a battle between… "Batman" and a gang—the "Batman" being Joker throwing pies and wearing a horrible imitation of the Batsuit made of purple cloth.

His "Robin," covered in feathers, on the other hand, was running around with a mallet and cheering her boss on.

Bruce just stared at the screen and looked at Alfred with horror and disbelief.

"… He got you soup…" Alfred stated, causing Bruce to make never-before-heard sounds of confused disbelief.

"H-H-H-U-Unf…"

The butler turned off the television. "Bed. You are obviously hallucinating."

Bruce just nodded mutely and actually obeyed, though Alfred knew the younger man was obviously feeling better. Perhaps tomorrow he would return to his patrols.

As for interrogating Alfred about the "replacement" he had found, well, the butler truly had no idea when those questions would arise. But he would handle them as he handled everything that came his way: with elegance, grace and dignity.

Right now, however, he had a manor to clean.


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

Alfred had finished cleaning the manor and rested, and the next day had passed quickly. Bruce was feeling much better and, to Alfred's relief, the others had also returned.

Bruce was suiting up for the night when he glanced over at Alfred. "You know," he said suspiciously, "I had the strangest dream of the Joker being my replacement…"

"Obviously the sickness had quite the hold on you," Alfred stated primly.

"Uh-huh," Bruce said, not buying it for a minute. "Why him?"

"Different reasons," Alfred answered. "But he did well, Bruce. You saw the results yourself." He hadn't told his young master who the first replacement had been and he didn't intend to.

Bruce grunted and finished suiting up for the night. "I'll see you in the morning, Alfred. Get some rest."

Alfred nodded and watched as they left, making sure everything was tidy and taken care of and worrying as always.

A few nights later, things were relatively normal. Bruce had sent criminals back to prison and broken up various gang fights and the like. Tim was still learning under him and Dick had visited for a bit before returning to Bludhaven.

The butler had stopped some petty criminals that attempted to rob the manor. Idiots, truthfully, but it was something to do and it was all in a day's work. The elderly man went inside to sort the news out for Bruce and saw the news report of Joker being back in Arkham.

But on the news report, the man was sneezing and coughing.

Alfred watched it for a few moments before he slowly smiled, planning, and went to the kitchen. When he told Bruce of the plan later, the man protested vehemently.

"Please, Bruce?" Alfred asked quietly, looking at the younger man.

Bruce Wayne, the Batman, the Dark Knight, Protector of Gotham, sighed miserably. How could he deny the man who had raised him?

He didn't have to like it though.

"Fine." He grunted.

Night had fallen once more, with the no-longer-sick Dark Knight back to his normal activities.

Well… mostly.

At the moment, he was barely noticeably in Arkham Asylum, a shadow on the wall as he dropped in front of a cell….

This particular cell happened to hold the Clown Prince of Crime, the Joker. Batman growled at the coughing and sneezing man.

"Batsy!" Joker wheezed, looking quite pleased as he leaped up and clapped his hands. "What a joy! What brings you to my humble current abode?"

The Batman growled more, obviously wanting nothing more than to punch the criminal in the face.

"I don't speak Baaaaaat," Joker sing-sang.

Another growl and Batman shoved a paper bag, still quite warm, through the bars. "For you. _Not_ from me," he snapped, leaving before Joker could reply.

The criminal blinked, actually confused for once, until he opened the bag. His laugh, very unlike his usual maniacal laugh, filled the prison and made the guards rush to the cell to see what Batman could have given the criminal to have caused such a reaction.

But all the criminal held was a bowl of chicken noodle soup that smelled rather delicious and next to him was what seemed like a "Get Well Soon" card. The guards shrugged and let the insane man be.

Joker picked up the card once more, looking over the neat handwriting.

_I don't want you to come out and play, but a good caretaker never likes seeing a person sick.  
__Here is to hoping you feel better soon. And thank you.  
Sincerely,  
_"_The Caretaker"_

Still chuckling quite softly, the clown placed the card affectionately near the top of his bed, the only personal object in the cell. "Batsy is no fun, but I think I like you, Mr. Caretaker." The criminal nodded to himself at this and began to eat his soup happily.

Above the prison the Batman moved, ready to take care of the city, and in the outskirts, in the manor, behind the scenes, the man that took care of him, was making sure that their home was secure.

All was back to normal. Well, normal for Gotham City

Although a certain butler knew that when another abnormal night occurred… a certain clown would be there to answer the call.

It was insane and confusing, but that was the norm for Gotham.

And quite honestly, aside from the high crime rate, no one would want it any other way.


End file.
